


The Fall of Qallist

by WotanAnubis



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Fantasy, Gen, Lots of implied violence, Slavery, Swords & Sorcery, barbarians - Freeform, pre-history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28812660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WotanAnubis/pseuds/WotanAnubis
Summary: In which it took only one barbarian at the gates to topple a great civilization.
Kudos: 9





	The Fall of Qallist

**Author's Note:**

> I hate having to think up of names for my original works. I just have to hope they don't sound too silly, you know?

Proud Qallist, greatest of the human cities back when the Earth was still young and untamed. When the rest of humanity still lived in caves, and tents, and huts, Qallist was a city of houses made from clay and brick. Bronze it worked, and iron, when outside its walls people still used stone.

This was the promise of ancient Qallist: care for the city, and the city would care for you. Its walls and troops would protect its people from raiders and wild animals. Its granaries would protect the people from famine. Its priests would do their best to heal people from injury and disease. It was this promise that Qallist to the beacon of civilization it once was - a grand city of nearly three thousand souls.

But Qallist had been built with a flaw in its foundations. Its rulership passed from father to son. A few kings had done their very best to make the city and its inhabitants thrive. Most had been content merely to maintain the status quo. Some had listened to good advice, some to bad. And then there was Karran, last King of Qallist.

Karran had been in the palace, raised to one day be granted the throne. Raised in power and wealth, he had grown to see these as his by right, rather than as a reward for just rulership. When Karran ascended to the throne, his troops left the walls to raid the tribes of the deep desert and even ventured into the jungles of the serpents of Hisshan, that sad and fading people dwelling within the ruins of their once-great Empire. While wild animals once again encroached on the livestock of the peasants working day and night to provide Qallist with food, the King's troops brought back untold riches to be locked up within the vaults of the palace.

Though the farms surrounding the walls of the city were no longer protected, King Karran emptied the city's granaries to hold grand and wasteful feasts for himself and his friends. Once, the granaries had been seen as a public storeroom for food to feed those who, for one reason or another, would otherwise had to go without. But King Karran proclaimed that the food going to the granaries were tithes to his deserving majesty.

It did not take long for unrest to explode all over the city. So King Karran turned his troops - troops that had once protected the citizens of Qallist against outside threats - against his own people, to ensure he could hold on to his own power. Power he still believed was his by birthright.

Then one day, the last day of Qallist, a barbarian rode up to the gates of that proud city. Her skin was as black as the moonless, starless desert night. She wore hyena furs and carried a stone blade at her hip. Her mount, festooned with water bottles and food pouches, was a great lizard, a last remnant from those beasts to roamed the world before the Age of Mammals. Its bronze scales gleamed like fire in the sun.

She rode easily up the gates of the city, watched nervously by the two gate guards and warily by the archers up on the wall.

"I want to speak to your king," the barbarian proclaimed.

The two gate guards exchanged glances. This wild woman from the desert clearly didn't have any riches to offer the king and didn't look like she'd be much interested in being a harem slave. The king would not see her. But the guards also didn't feel like it would be good for their healths if they just told this to the barbarian outright.

"We'll send a messenger to the palace," said one of the gate guards.

"To, uh, announce your presence and request for an audience," the other added hurriedly.

The barbarian shrugged indifferently. "Sure."

To the surprise of all the guards, the wild woman dismounted her great lizard and fed it great chunks of dried meat. The bronze lizard chewed on it happily, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth as it did so.

At length, someone returned from the palace and stepped out of the gates to confront the barbarian. Makkor was one of the greatest, most respected, warriors of Qallist. He had served two kings before Karran with distinction. His days of youthful vigour had long since passed, but he still had a great deal of experience and practised every day.

"The king will not see you," he said.

"I'm afraid I'm gonna have to," the barbarian replied.

Makkor drew his sword. It had seen dozens of battles, slain countless men and beasts, but he'd cared for it and it still gleamed as though it had been freshly forged.

"I'm sorry, but I'll have to insist you leave."

"You know I won't," said the barbarian.

Makkor smiled. "No, I suppose not. I am sorry, you know."

The barbarian drew her stone blade. "I guess I should thank you for that. Well, if this is how it's going to be..."

The two of them clashed, the wild woman from the desert and the trained soldier from the city. Makkor had a lifetime of experience backing him up, but the barbarian had clearly been trained as well. For a while, as the sparks flew from their stone and bronze blades, it seemed as though they were evenly matched. But Makkor was old and, perhaps, he wasn't weighed down merely by age, but also by the sins he'd committed in service of King Karran.

At last, Makkor fell, without fear or, it seemed, regret. If anything, in death, he seemed pleased to have been released from his service to the city. To its king.

The barbarian was silent for a moment, then returned her attention to the gate guards.

" _Now_ can I see the king?"

"Uhm..." one of the guard quavered.

The barbarian sighed. "Fine, go send another messenger."

When the wild woman settled in again to wait, her great lizard beast dozing happily in the sun, one of the archers up on the wall stirred.

"Barbarian!" he yelled. "Will you let us recover Makkor's fallen body?"

The woman looked up, a hint of confusion passing across her face. "Whatever for?"

"So that we might burn it according to our traditions," the archer replied.

"Oh," the barbarian replied. "Sure. Of course. Go ahead."

"Thank you."

" _What are you doing?_ " one of the other archers on the wall hissed urgently. "You know the king has decreed the dead are to be buried."

"I don't care. Makkor would want his spirit freed to join his ancestors, not have it bound in service to this king. Come on, who else is with me?"

In the end, the archer and two of his comrades left their stations to recover Makkor's body and build a pyre for him far out sight from the walls. They would never return to their duties.

The gate to Qallist opened again, but rather than a single trained warrior, two detachments of palace guards took up station around the barbarian and her bronze mount, aiming their iron-tipped spears at her.

"Really?" the barbarian said. "All this for just one woman?"

"Leave!" one of the soldiers snarled.

The barbarian sighed. Her lizard mount reared up and eagerly wagged its mighty tail with anticipation.

Then, with one blood-curdling bellow, the wild woman flung herself at the spears raised against her. The soldiers had enough training to hold together rather than flee in the face of her sudden berserk rage. They lunged and stabbed at her, but the barbarian was fast and powerful enough to either dodge their thrusts or throw them aside.

Even so, she was but one woman against many. And even though more and more soldiers fell under her stone blade, eventually one iron spear was sure to strike home. That is, until the barbarian's ancient beast fell on their formation. The iron tips of their spears were deflected harmlessly by its fiery scales and its razor teeth tore easily through their leather armour.

Under the ferocity of the barbarian and her beast, the troops - who had spent years with only unarmed citizens as their opponents - wavered. Finally, one soldier's nerve broke as the great lizard lunged at him with yawning maw and blood-stained teeth and he ran, screaming. The faltering morale of the others finally collapsed and those still capable of fleeing, did so.

"Alright, _now_...?"

But there were no longer any guards at the gate, or archers on the wall. The barbarian shrugged and entered Qallist.

Which was in chaos. Mobs of men and women assaulted the garrisons and granaries. Statues of King Karran were being torn down and the proud banners of Qallist were being burned in the streets.

Perhaps it would have surprised to barbarian how the city had fallen into such chaos so quickly, if she'd bothered to wonder about it at all. But King Karran's cruel and avaricious rule had cowered his people into obedience, merely into the appearance of obedience. For months, _years_ , those who opposed the king, of which there were many, had met secretly, and quietly, and organized, and waited. Waited for their one chance.

And now, with the great champion Makkor dead, and the palace emptied of many of its guards, they had taken their chance.

All of this completely passed the barbarian by as she walked Qallist's violence-torn streets, her great lizard beast padding along behind her. The rioters didn't bother her, because she was not their enemy, and she didn't bother them, because they weren't in her way.

At length, the wild woman reached the marble steps to the palace. There she found Emmr, Captain of the King's Guard, Commander of the King's Army. He was a man of many talents. He always agreed sincerely with every one of the King's opinions. He always praised each of the King's capricious whims as though they were genius. And he knew how to slander his rivals for power.

And now here he stood, alone, this obsidian woman from the desert approaching him with a stone sword in her hand and a terrible beast at her heels.

Emmr flung aside his weapons and feel to his knees. "Please!" he sobbed. "Please spare me!"

The barbarian gave the Supreme Commander a single, contemptuous glance, then strode past him.

Emmr got unsteadily to his feet. The King was doomed and the city was lost. There was no reason for him to stay, so he didn't. He ran down the steps and into the streets, avoiding the mobs as best he could. If he could just reach the walls, if he could just reach the gate, he'd be away and free to apply his talents to some other chieftain out there.

He had trouble finding his way, though. He hadn't ventured outside of the palace in years, and he had to avoid the main roads in case the mob found him. So now he found himself in side-streets and alleys he didn't recognise and didn't know where they led.

Too late it dawned on Emmr that the mob wasn't _just_ out in the streets. There were people walking behind him. And walking towards him from the sides. And in front of him. He turned, and suddenly there were people all around him.

Emmr had been nothing to the barbarian. Just some man standing on some marble steps. But to the citizens of Qallist, Emmr, in his neat uniform, was the iron fist of the palace. Citizens who, by law, were not allowed to carry arms. So all they had were the tools of their trade - hammers and chisels and meat cleavers and pitch forks.

Emmr, his eyes swivelling desperately from side to side, felt the wall at his back and saw the people of Qallist in front of him.

The barbarian reached the throne room, a beautiful space of marble and gold. Statues ran along the walls, most of them of King Karran, but there was also one of Karran's distant ancestor, the mythical founder of Qallist.

There was the throne of Karran, made from solid gold and adorned with precious gems from all over the world. And there was King Karran himself, dressed in finest silks, an beautifully engraved empty sheath at his hip, and a bloodstain growing larger across his chest.

A naked harem slave stood panting with adreneline, gold shackles around her neck, wrists, and ankles, a bloodied ornamental dagger in her hand, and hatred burning in her brown eyes.

"Well, can't say I'm surprised," the barbarian remarked.

The blood-splattered harem slave turned towards the barbarian and aimed her bloody dagger at the wild woman. "I'll never be another's property again," she growled.

"Good," the barbarian said, walking over the golden throne.

The woman from the desert looked past the former King's cooling body and inspected the many gems in the throne. She looked up with a vaguely satisfied smile.

"There they are," she said, and pried two gems from the golden throne's back. "I was afraid I'd have to dig through the treasure vaults, but I guess the man would want to display these."

"What?" said the former slave.

The barbarian showed the naked woman the two flawless emeralds she'd taken from the throne. "The Eyes of Ysssa," she said. "I'd been hired to retrieve them."

" _What?_ " said the gold-shackled woman. A nervous giggle escaped from her lips, which soon erupted into full-bellied laugh. Tears sprang from her eyes and her knees shook as her body very nearly failed to contain her almost hysterical laughter.

"I'm not sure I see the joke here," the barbarian remarked.

The woman with the bloody dagger took deep gulps of breath and gestured with her free hand to indicate both the King's corpse and the violent celebrations in the streets.

"All this - _all of this_ \- happened because of two simple gems?"

"Well, the serpents of Hisshan believe they're the eyes of one of their goddesses," said the barbarian. "But... no, I don't think this happened because of these gems. Or even because of me. Seems to me, it was all because of him," she finished, nodding to Karran's body.

"Yeah, you could be right," the woman agreed. "So what now?"

The barbarian shrugged. "Depends on what you want."

And that, more or less, was the end of proud Qallist. But not its people.

After the three archers who'd recovered Makkor's body had paid their respects to the city's last champion, they left into the desert, and there joined one of the so-called 'primitive' tribes. For the rest of their days they used their bows and arrows to hunt for food and hides rather than to intimidate people into cowering obedience.

The rioters left Qallist for the unknown wilderness. Their descendents would, eventually, found several new tribes ruled by no Kings, no Chieftains, not even Gods. They would live in utter freedom, with no-one higher or lower than anyone else.

The harem slave who'd freed herself in an act of bloody revenge decided to follow the barbarian to the serpents of Hisshan. She stayed with them for some time, learning their ways, their technology, their secrets. Years later, she would use all the knowledge of the serpents of Hisshan to become the first of the Witch-Queens of Serress.

As for the barbarian herself, once she'd returned the Eyes of Ysssa to their rightful owners, she returned home to be with her wives and children. She stayed with them for several happy months, but then her wanderlust caught up with her once more and she set of on another adventure.

But that's a different story.


End file.
